Sunset in Sona
by BlueBastard
Summary: Sona is a prison that he will soon escape from. Michael just wished *he* hadn't been sent there as well. Slash Michael/Alex
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No I do not own nor profit from Prison Break or any of its franchise or affiliates.

-o-o-o-

Michael Scofield was not a man to rush headstrong into any situation without calculating the multiple facets of outcomes and equations. It was just how his mind worked. Analyzing. Dissecting. Paired with meticulous scrutiny, it was a deadly combination to anyone who stood in his way.

He had never met someone who thought quite the same. Until him.

The gray eyed devil himself.

Alex Mahone.

And he was stuck in the same prison with the former Agent. The irony was so thick Michael struggled to swallow it as it got lodged in his throat. Their eyes met across the heated Panama courtyard before his brain could convince his body to move away. Delay the inevitable. But what was the point? They were both stuck here for at least a week.

Scofield was talented. But not THAT talented. In order to do what he had to do, to gather the intel and the resources to pull of yet another impossible escape, he could NOT afford to spend extra pains and energy to hide. Hide from those steely eyes that managed to pierce Michael to his shivering core. It was usually ruthless men with no morals that shook the brother of the formerly condemned.

But something about the way Mahone looked -hell the way he *acted*- around Michael had the younger man on edge. Almost like Mahone was an inch away from figuring Scofield out, and it terrified Michael to no end.

There was a brief moment of disbelief, anger, then a smug satisfaction that slid across the former agent's face. Then, shoulders squared, Alex took long powerful strides to splinter Michael's ill prepared defenses.

As a last ditch effort, Scofield's body finally reacted, trying to casually turn and make off for a different direction. A destination that led AWAY from the determined gentlemen pointedly heading his way. But, as Mahone had proved himself quite capable the previous months, the older man managed to somehow stay one step ahead of him.

A bare, muscled arm struck the wall conveniently barring Michael's path to freedom, the solid black shirted body attached to it giving the eased air of casualty. As if Mahone was simply leaning against the wall for support. In no way at all having improvised a way to halt Michael's retreat.

Impossible.

Chuckling at some unsaid phrase, Mahone directed that all encompassing gaze Michael's way as he commented, "Small world, eh Scofield?" But it wasn't a question. And those eyes were too invasive for comfort.

Eyes narrowing in angry defiance of his rising anxiety levels, Michael cut shortly, "Too small."

Then he attempted to sidestep around the curly haired brunette, hoping his shortened answer was enough to convey just how little he wanted to converse with the other. But Mahone was never prone to being ignored. His powerful persona, and deviously intricate mind, were of a breed that would not allow such a thing to pass.

His fist slammed into the other side of the wall, right next to the young con's head, effectively penning the elusive man in. Michael was taken by surprise, and by the amused glint in the older man's darker grin, Mahone had noticed.

"Cute, Scofield." Mahone drawled with a dangerous tilt of his head, leaning closer as he hissed, "Almost as cute as that stunt. The boat? The drugs. Lawman in jail... eheh..."

Struggling with the wash of fear in the face of the unknown, which threatened to make itself known through small tells that Mahone would read like a children's storybook, Michael set his jaw. He barely kept from blinking at such close, heated proximity, Mahone's auburn curls brushing his sweat filmed brow. Scofield grabbed at his pooled reserve of anger, clutching at it like a shield as he growled, "Nothing less than what you deserve."

"Had to be done." Alex hissed, the former Company lapdog had his hackles raised, "They threatened my *family*. You know what that's like. You WILL not lie to my face and say otherwise."

The born authority in that hardened voice made Michael focus. Go past the hate, the hurt. The anger. Scofield deflated a little, "Your Ex...?"

"And my boy." Mahone nearly sagged in relief. In light of the fact that the kid was actually speaking to him. But it merely showed with one less wrinkle in his brow. He released his held breath, pressing his hot forehead against the cool stone wall, not missing the flinch in Michael at this movement, all but pressing their clothed bodies together. He allowed a small smirk at that, before letting it be known, "Don't get me wrong, Scofield. I loved my family. Still do. But they can't be a part of my life. I won't let 'em. They can't handle the Company. They can't handle me."

Michael attempted levity, though strained as it was through his forced chuckle, "There someone who can?"

Mahone paused at that, tired brain churning at an increasing rate. Images of past and present flit through his mind. Different scenery. Different people. But one face remained. One face was a constant.

"Yeah..." Mahone's face was plastered against the wall, his mumbling barely heard, "Yeah, there is..."

Frowning, Michael tried his best not to inhale the muscular scent of the solid body encompassing him, turning his head to look at the visible side of Mahone's face, millimeters from his own. Hesitant, Scofield uttered in disbelief, "Really?... Who?"

Alex shifted to gaze into those blue eyes, narrowed but clearly saturated in fear and apprehension. Michael Scofield's uncertainty was intoxicating, and Alex breathed it in, getting higher than he would off any drug. The younger was always putting up a brave front. Always untouchable. Unreadable. Calmly calculating.

With everyone but Mahone.

Fact of the matter was, it pleased Alex to no end to know this.

Alex cracked a grin, his response dipped in his velvet tones, "You, Michael."

Michael was stunned mute. If he had been struggling to breath before, it was like a vacuum had torn open, making it utterly impossible now. This game of cat and mouse had been frustrating. Fun, but irritating in their evenly matched wits. But never in a thousand years would Michael have known...

Would have thought...

No.

For the first time Scofield felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under him, completely unbalancing him. It was completely unnerving for one who thought of endless possibilities, countless outcomes, all in a juggling act boiling down to a simple need for control. Control over every single situation. His brother was the only one who had called him out. Sure, he could control things. Map out environments, master timings of events. But one factor consistently eluded the architectural genius.

People.

Particularly the kind like Alex Mahone.

The only person to have successfully blindsided one confused Michael Scofield to date.

For once in his life, Michael could feel his emotions running rampant across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. His mouth opened and closed with strangled words that died on his lips. And Mahone was just having a ball. Grinning toothily from ear to ear. Just when the inklings of something *more* started to seep through, Scofield clamped everything down with denial and anger, glaring at the older man through sky blue eyes, as he bit out, "Funny, Mahone. But I have things to do. Places to be."

Alex let his eyes flick down to Michael's lips, licking his own as he paused to lean closer, disbelief brimming his tone, "Do you now...?"

Michael grew rigid for the briefest of moments, but just long enough for Alex to notice, before simply shoving the taller man away as he bit out with a growl, "Yes, I do."

The former assassin easily turned his sudden forced removal into a backwards saunter, casually tucking his hands in his pockets as he came to a stop and shrugged, "Another time, then."

From the dark scowl he received at the reply, Mahone knew what the other's thoughts were on that shadowed command. Too strong to be a suggestion, too demanding to be a request.

But Alex merely chucked.

He had lost the brief battle of wills. But had gained an upper hand on winning the war.

He would have Michael Scofield. There was no doubt about that.

The question was a mere matter of when.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex Mahone was an enigma. A quandary Michael thought best left untouched. Now if only Mahone had the same feelings on the matter...

But Michael was sure of it now. The former FBI agent was trying to drive him INSANE. As punishment for being sent into Sona? Possibly. Because that's just the way Alex Mahone functioned? Not a factor to be excluded.

Because he truly harbored feelings for Scofield? Not a realm Michael even wanted to bring into reality.

Every look, every breath, every movement conveyed to Michael just how badly Mahone wanted to... well, for lack of a better description... *fuck* him. Scofield wasn't sure how he missed it before.

And frankly, it was something he wished he could ignore NOW. Especially with what was at stake.

Not only did he need to come up with another unlikely escape attempt, but the forced detox Mahone was going through was reaching unreasonable heights of danger. Alex was a time bomb waiting to explode. And Michael sorely hoped he would be nowhere near when the moment triggered.

Meanwhile, Scofield leaned forward on the concrete ledge lining Sona's courtyard, watching the young kid making shots against the painting of a basketball net. His brow was creased in thought when a familiar con sidled up next to him.

"That boy right ther's jus' like you, ya know?" The southern twang was like claws down Scofield's back, reeking of all the bad deeds the man had done.

Michael resisted the urge to step sideways, not liking the casual way T-Bag leaned back against the ledge, his side making contact with Scofield. Though he knew psychotic tendencies weren't catching, he still had to repress a shiver of repulsion at the other con's closeness.

Debating whether to ignore the other or not, Scofield relented with a weary sigh as his curiosity got the best of him, turning his stooped head enough to glance sideways, "How so?"

"You know... ya both have that stench of-of purity and... innocence." Theodore Bagwell elaborated with grand gestures of his good hand, looking as though the last two descriptions left a fowl taste in his mouth.

"I... see." Michael deadpanned, tone pushing the other for a point in his vague statement.

"It just..." T-Bag's tongue clicked as he stared skywards thoughtfully, before turning to directly face the younger man, "things like that always start an itch in me, to, er... corrupt such misconceptions and flawed idealizations."

Michael's glower hardened, "You will not touch him."

T-Bag licked his lips, "Well, look at you, mistah self-righteous. I noticed ya didn't include yourself, Pretty, in that warning."

Mouth open to retort, Michael could only blink as the words were taken right out of his mouth, and spoken with a harsher, more authoritative tone, "Because it doesn't need to be said, Bagwell."

They both turned, surprised at the intrusion of their conversation. The jet black shirt clung very powerfully to the man's solid frame, and though he leaned casually against the stone pillar -steps from them- he still managed to put off a menacing aura. Only few could do that in such a slouched posture, hands tucked in jean pockets. It was an affect the older man had perfected in his years of covert ops and military training.

While Michael was too stunned to form a reply, T-Bag easily filled the silence with his snarky comment, "Who are you, agent Mahone, hisssss *mama*?"

Alex hissed at that, taking a few threatening steps forward, large hands out of his pockets as he throatily growled, "No. Just the man that will beat you to the inch of your pathetic life should you so much as touch a hair on this kid's shaved head."

"Woah-ho, easy there tiger." Bagwell backed off, hand raised in surrender as he took a few steps back himself, "No need ta get grabby. Didn't realize there was a dance card already in play."

As Teddy kept backing away past Scofield, the snarky man threw a stage whisper sideways at the stunned Pretty, "Think ya gots a secret admirer, college boy. Don't take yer eyes of 'im, ex-special forces never do two things. Share. Or play nice..."

Mahone gave an inaudible growl, taking another step or two in Theodore's direction, free hands clenched. T-Bag knew a warning when he saw it. Since he had a very keen sense of survival, he skid addled out of there with as much haste as he could, managing to throw a wink in Scofield's direction as he scuttled back and down the corridor.

Alexander watched the retreating rapist like a hawk, not minding at all when he shifted his gaze to find himself under intense scrutiny. He could just see those sharp blue eyes dissecting him on the spot, trying to piece together the facets that was Alex Mahone to deliver into that genius brain of Michael's. which was just fine. All throughout the chase, when he was a Company man, he had always admired the way the kid's mind worked. It was unique. Intelligent. A brilliant work of art, in itself.

The first time he saw Scofield, in that elevator hatch, it had been supremely satisfying. To know he had figured out another of Scofield's riddles, and had been immediately rewarded by a face to face meeting with the genius himself. He wasn't surprised at all when he saw Burrow's face down the barrel of that gun, and when he turned to calmly take in and memorize the second face, his heart nearly stalled. Michael Scofield's photograph hardly did him any justice.

The tattooed man was breathtaking. That squared jaw that slackened in response to Mahone's incomprehensible tolerance of the situation. Like Mahone had known -had *expected*- Michael and Lincoln to be there on that elevator to bail LJ out. Those piercing blue eyes that widened just a fraction at the hawk-like intensity he was being observed by Mahone, the Agent cocking his head as though he wasn't under gunpoint at all, but was wanting to better observe Michael like Alex and he had been pen pals this whole time and was just getting the first glimpse of his face.

The scrutiny was making Michael wish he could crawl backwards into the shadows. Stay hidden and away from those all seeing eyes. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Like looking at him was giving them their first breath of air. And it scared Michael. Put his hair on edge. Because he had to see all the angles. Calculate and file them away in the shelves of his brain. And this strange Agent, that was treating his arrival like a welcomed intrusion rather than an unlawful encounter, was definitely uncalled for and extremely unsettling.

Michael didn't miss when those stormy grey eyes flicked down to his softly parted lips, his shock and fear having frozen his countenance since Linc first popped the elevator hatch open. Chest heaving, Michael felt his tongue dart of its own accord to wet suddenly dry lips. Those gray eyes honed in on the movement, their intensity settling back up at Michael's own eyes, the look in them shooting a jolt of heat to suddenly travel south. And his cheeks must have given him away with a slight flush, because he swears that wolffish grin on the agent's chiseled face widened.

Michael had a feeling to stay away then. And he was getting the same feeling now. Alex Mahone seemed to have his own gravitational pull. When those grey eyes had Scofield in his sights, Michael had the tingling notion that each moment drew him further and deeper in, tangling the architect into an elaborate web. Each moment drew him closer to an end. An end he could not foresee, but which brought strange shivers down his spine all the same.

Each moment away from the other was the best recipe to avoid disaster.

Something Scofield tried to apply again in the current situation as he snapped out of it. T-Bag gone. Mahone here. Yes in a courtyard full of cons. But the way the other had his full focus zeroed on Michael, they might as well be alone.

Noticing the gray eyes flicking down to his parted lips, Scofield immediately snapped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to lick suddenly dry lips. Funny how those stormy eyes replicated the heat of a thousand suns, all with a simple, albeit fairly concentrated, gaze. Mahone merely looked back up at those concerned baby blues, smirking as though he knew just how hard the other was trying not to lick those delectable lips. And the result seemed just as favorable.

Scofield was immediately on the defensive, "I didn't need your help."

Alexander walked the remaining distance between him as he replied, in the meantime gauging and observing the increased tension in the younger man's posture, "Judging from your reaction, I'm guessing you are very familiar with Bagwell's unnecessary overtures. Probably been occurring since day one from Fox River, I presume?"

Michael stood toe to toe with him, arms crossed. Another defensive posture. Protecting himself, Mahone noted internally, his own protective instincts flaring up for the vulnerable architect. He could see why someone like Bagwell was so intrigued. A man of such intellect, such beauty, and with just enough power to defend himself. With just the right dash of defiance and sharp tongue to make any power hungry man want to make him submit. Mahone didn't consider himself in that category. He was a hot blooded male in a league of his own, trapped by his consuming desire to figure the other out. Make him completely his.

But that was a process. And Michael was a bomb that had to be diffused just so.

"Sounds about right." Scofield relented, expecting no less than the bullseye from the only man leading a manhunt to almost successfully trump him in the chess of the chase.

"Don't get me wrong, Scofield. I know how capable you are. Can handle yourself. Figured it wouldn't hurt to butt in." Mahone shrugged, moving to fill the recently vacated spot next to the man, making himself comfortable with hands in pockets once more as he shrugged again, "You're welcome, by the way."

Not sure what game the other was playing, though he was clearly trying to get on his good side, Michael looked at the older man with a suspicious smirk, "Thanks."

He didn't quite know what Mahone was after. But with all things, he was sure to figure it out sooner or later.


	3. Chapter 3

Michael knew he shouldn't have pushed king pin so far. The con didn't go outright and say it, but he didn't need to.

Lechero had set him up.

And now he was scheduled to fight. A chicken foot. Of all things. For drugs he had never seen before, much less stolen and put in his bunk.

Michael was nervous. Sure he could handle himself in a fight. But luck and surprise was more often than not allies he would use. A scheduled fight? No surprises there. Against a man triple his size with muscles in his single bicep that amounted to Scofield's weight? And a six time lifer at that with all the time in the world to hone his fighting skills in the dirtiest pen in Panama?

Michael was dead.

He sat at his bunk, hands nervously clenched together. When a head poked in at his cell's entrance, he started, grabbing his upper legs, trying to hide his anxiety. But there was no point, not against the man standing there, though Mahone was kind enough not to look too long in his direction.

"Kneecap. Straight kick to that will break it. Cripple him. Go for the kneecap." Mahone muttered, twitching with withdrawal symptoms and possibly a dash of worry. For who? Michael? His mouth opened as though to say something else. But after a glance in Scofield's direction, reading the other like a book, he refrained. His mouth shut and he left, just as quick as he had come.

Scofield was oddly grateful, yet confused all the same.

-o-o-o-

Chanting.

Everyone was cheering for the man's death. It all happened so fast. The fight. The crowd.

The man's kneecap busting under Michael's rushed kick. It had worked. Mahone's advice had worked. Bust the knee. Cripple the muscled man. Take advantage.

Which Scofield had done. Following through with a few slugs, jabs, and a kick or two for good measure. And the Panamanian con was down for the count, groaning in agony. Except it wasn't enough.

The crowd was screaming for blood. And if he heard Lechero correctly, one could NOT walk away from this ring of death until the other stopped breathing. A million thoughts jolted through Michael like scattered ashes. Could he do this?

Kill a man?

And leave with his soul intact?

His moment of hesitation distracted him as he faced the ring of cons that refused to part. He heard the approaching footsteps too late. From the screams of the gathered cons, the other man must have something good. A weapon? Michael was turning. But too slow. Too late.

A blur of jet black and mahogany. And Alex was there. Strong arm arching up to catch what Michael could now see a gleaming shiv in his would-be killer's arm. His blue eyes widened at the scene. Why? How had Alex-

Mahone used his momentum and the loss of the other's footing to finally overpower that thicker arm, forcing it up and over behind the bigger con's back to contort his body to the agent's will. Head locked neatly under his other arm, Mahone knew the other was finished. He gripped the head and neck just so, and twisted.

Snap!

He stepped back, breathing heavily even as the body went limp and fell motionless to the ground. He locked grey eyes with wide and wondering blues, seeking out the safety of the other even in his current automatic mindset. He had seen the man coming for Michael and...

Had just *reacted*.

When Mahone had those baby blues in his sights, he just drank in the living beauty that was Michael Scofield. Amazement, admiration and gratitude over washing the fear that had saturated those eyes during the fight. During the realization that Scofield *would* have to take a life to save his own. But he didn't have to. Would NOT have to.

Not when Mahone was there.

He would not allow Michael to dirty his hands doing things Mahone had been trained to do all his life. He would be Michael's Lucifer. Not quite a warrior angel, but a fallen one. He owed Michael that much.

Working for the Company had blackened Alex's soul. Something he had accepted to cover past deeds and save his family. If Michael hadn't come along, he would still be in their dark clutches. For them, he had done things that still had him screaming out at night.

For Michael, he would do anything.

Something he was sure the younger was slowly, unwittingly, starting to comprehend.

Though Mahone could still see the conflict written clearly on the kid's face.

-o-o-o-

Michael still didn't know what to do with the former agent. Former Company man. He still did not sit well on the top of his 'trust' list.

If he made the cut at all.

But what he did know was that he needed to distract the other while he set his plan in motion for the escape. What was more of a goose chase than a black felt tip pen? Surely none of the inmates here would have such a thing.

But Michael slipped up.

So concerned and concentrated was he on his plan, that he forgot a minor detail. One that was gripped accusingly in one oddly calm Alex Mahone's fingertips.

"Forgot your pen..." Alex trailed, leaving his leaned perch against the new cell's doorway.

Crap.

Michael breathed deeply, eyes closed as a sense of failure washed over him. How could he forget? Mahone never would.

Stepping quickly forward, Michael grabbed the writing utensil, mind whirring to cover up his previous fuck up, "Thanks, Alex."

He quickly turned his back on the other, hoping an obscured view of his face and some distance would alleviate his fears of being discovered. But at Mahone's lazy drawl, he knew his hopes were dashed to oblivion, "Funny that. You moved to your new cell, and forgot such an important item as this is."

Tapping the pen nervously against his palm, still facing the opposite wall, Michael grunted noncommittally, "I know, thanks Mahone. Won't happen again."

Little did he know the mini war waging across Mahone's normally stern facade. The detox was reaching his peak, Alex's observant mind whispering and hissing betrayal from Michael's direction.

As Michael set the pen down in the stand, he didn't think twice as Mahone murmured delusional-like, "Well, look at that..."

The former agent stepped closer, forearm shielding the shiv from Scofield's view. Then Mahone pivoted around, before turning to quickly strike the wall breaths from Michael's head. It took a moment for Scofield to piece the glimmer of the makeshift blade, and the thud, to realize just how close he had come to dying.

Seconds too late to realize just how trapped he was as Mahone closed in, other forearm propped against the non bladed side, face inches from his own. Real fear surged through the architectural genius, and it bled through him. But at the moment, Scofield didn't care how easy he was to read. Alex had reached the tipping point. And Scofield was in no mood to see how much farther the man could be pushed before the dangerous man did something he could not undo.

"You know, Scofield..." Mahone started slowly, eyes straight ahead, but seeing that anxious blue gaze darting between blade and his own face, and everywhere in between, "I am not to be manipulated like everyone else. Like-like Bagwell, Sucre and the others. I'm not your errand boy."

Michael heard his words. Understood the warning and the meaning of it. But his fear was all encompassing. In Fox River there were plenty of times he was outgunned. Outmanned. But never outwitted. He would always be the victor in that arena. Yet here, right now in Sona, in this cell with this man...

He could not feel anything but helpless.

And it was alien to him.

To feel so matched and yet unbalanced.

And he couldn't help but notice just how well that black shirt fit snugly around that broad chest. How the short sleeves wrapped deceptively across the man's biceps. How close and how hot the lawman was, body almost plastered against his own. Just hairs away, like with how achingly close that hawk-like face was from his own.

He didn't think he would yearn for anyone like he had for Sara. But that was different. Hers started as a ruse. A pawn. Mahone was different. These feelings he had were *different*. More intense. More physically *real* in a way his attraction to the girl could never be.

Here Alex Mahone was, threatening him in every way possible. And Michael could feel a heated stirring in his pants that he could not believe existed. Right then and there. And the fear he had was not only for his own safety. But for fear of discovery. He could feel his breath struggling to escape, a fresh sheen of sweat covering his brow. Mahone's thigh was so close. Too close. He should just agree with what the lawman was saying. Get the other out of his cell as soon as humanly possible.

"When we leave, you will take me with you. Don't think you won't..." Mahone trailed darkly, on the verge of threatening with physical, bodily harm. But it wasn't necessary. Both of them knew it.

"Of course. You're in. All the way. Got it." Michael agreed too quickly, making those perceptive grey eyes narrow.

Mahone took a mental step back, inspecting the younger man in front of him with an inquisitive gaze. What was up with Scofield? He knew the boy was scared. But something had shifted. Michael's demeanor, while still afraid, had turned towards something else. Alex shifted his stance, thigh brushing against the younger.

A hiss escaped Scofield's teeth, and the younger man froze solid.

Mahone blinked once. Twice.

He looked pointedly down. Was that-?

"I get it." Michael urged, attempting to redirect the older's attention, "You're coming with me. Point taken."

Mahone cocked a brow as he brought his gaze back up. The boy was sure in a rush now, being all agreeable. Could it be-?

"Now please, just get out." The demanding note from Scofield's smart mouth had a hint of -what was it, pleading?- in it.

The younger con was stopped short as Mahone deliberately pressed his thigh between Scofield's legs.

And Michael nearly choked, smooth head slamming back against the wall as his lips parted with a silent cry.

Mahone's own breath caught in his throat, mouth suddenly dry with more than a need for water in this humid hell. He had never seen a more delectable sight. He did this.

He made that young body taut. Those kissable lips freeze in denied ecstasy. That barely audible cry rip from that supple throat.

And he could hardly believe the prominent evidence bulging warmly against his thigh. It was a pleasant surprise. And completely unexpected.

Like Christmas come early.


	4. Chapter 4

"Michael..." Mahone trailed gruffly once the initial wave had rippled through, Scofield once again ahold of his senses, glaring fearfully at Mahone through lowered lashed, "You have been hiding this from me..."

Michael didn't know what to say. To do. To think.

Was Mahone upset? Disgusted? Psychotic? He couldn't tell pass his surge of self-preservation, fear and denial.

Words slipped through his lips without permission, "I didn't even know *this* existed myself..."

Realizing his own words acknowledged and condemned him, Scofield immediately shut his mouth, lips drawn in a thin line as he looked over and away, avoiding that hawk-like glance. But Mahone could see the truth in Michael's words, and would be damned before he'd let the other just *avoid* this. His mop of unruly brown hair bobbed with him as he ducked and craned his neck, intercepting that blue-eyed gaze -once, twice, even a third and fourth time-, forcing the younger to make eye contact.

"Uh-uh, not so fast, Scofield. What do you mean, you didn't know-"

"Just like what it sounds!" Michael snapped a little too harshly, before trailing, unsure of his own voice as he continued, "*This* should not even exist. Between us? C'mon Alex. This can't be real."

Mahone could physically feel the other withdrawing. Could feel his chances at pursuing this -whatever this amazing, unbelievable *thing* was- drawing to an end. There was an edge of hysteria in his voice as he cracked slightly with a broken laugh, "Not real? What do you mean, aheh, NOT real?"

Michael didn't miss the note of desperation, but was standing firm as he glanced pointedly at the blade next to him, "I dunno Alex. *You're* the one with the shiv. Why don't YOU tell ME?"

Mahone threw the blade away and behind him so fast, so completely, that Michael actually flinched. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest. He thought for a moment Mahone-

"Show me your hands." Mahone demanded.

Scofield blinked, "WHAT?"

Alex sighed impatiently, large hand extended between them, repeating urgently, "SHOW me your hands."

Seeing as how, even without the knife, the taller and larger man still had him backed against the wall, Michael -very VERY reluctantly- complied.

Hands slowly offered before him, palms up in the universal gesture of 'I-don't-have-a-fuckin'-thing', Michael frowned, "I don't see why-"

In a movement too fast to follow, Mahone used his large and capable hand to grab both wrists of Michael's, and slam the captured hands above Scofield's head, effectively pinning the man back against the wall. As if he hadn't been trapped before. It became all too clear when this left Mahone's other hand free to reach down and grab-

"*THIS* seems pretty fuckin' real to me, Michael." And god if that hardened voice and that domineering hand didn't both make Scofield's breath hitch, his temperature rise, and all the blood rush to his face and other parts.

Michael nearly choked, trying so hard not to get off on the feeling of *Mahone* -of all people- grabbing him through his jeans. The grip was firm, but not painfully so. And the pressure was just... amazing...

But this was wrong.

It had to be.

"A-Alex! Get your hand off-"

"Off what? Your *erection* Scofield? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I was threatening you a second ago, and you have a hard on-"

"That's not true-"

"Oh isn't it?" Mahone reasserted his grip, almost extorting a deliciously strangled moan from the slimmer man, "The evidence speaks for itself, Michael."

Michael cleared his throat, breath harsh as he denied with eyes clenched shut, "The *evidence* is merely a byproduct of fear and adrenaline-"

"Don't." Mahone growled dangerously, leaning in, "Do NOT throw textbook definitions at *me*, Scofield. I practically wrote the damn thing." Those clenched shut eyes pried open to stare anxiously back at him, that intelligent brain spinning in an attempt to churn up a reasonable excuse. But Mahone knew the kid too well. He would NOT be played.

Whatever lie that had been fabricating itself died in Michael's throat, those fearful eyes glancing safely to the side as the boy swallowed. Hard. His breath expelled in defeat as he said, "Then what would you suggest, Mahone?"

"My theory," Mahone's head cocked, like it always would when he observed a very intricate puzzle, looking down at the bulge in his hand then back up at those waiting eyes, "is you have an equal interest in me, as I do in you. Care to deny it again?"

Michael was sure if eyes could pop out of heads, his would be rolling on the ground, his head snapping back to Alex's so fast he was sure to have whiplash. Mahone would have chuckled if he wasn't so invested in the young man's reaction.

Scofield tested his current restraint, mouth unable to form words at the moment.

Mahone's gaze hardened, "Do you deny it in form then, rather than voice?"

"You... seem to have the upper hand. I don't..." Michael struggled with the right words, gaze darting around before settling back on those steely greys, relenting, "...relinquish control that easily."

"Hmm..." Mahone trailed, closing his eyes briefly to inhale Michael scent, ducking low to sniff from collarbone up to temple, feeling the other attempt and fail to shift away. When he opened his eyes, it was to Michael's cautious gaze, the younger looking like he wanted very much to run to the other side of Sona. Hell with that. Probably to the other side of the world. Mahone couldn't hold back any longer, "Get used to it, Scofield."

Michael's vocal protest was muffled by a clash of heat and teeth and mouths. The friction building between their clothed bodies intensified and broiled over as Alex's muscled bod was all over him. Scofield's need to get free escalated, and he struggled with renewed vigor against the single hand trapping his wrists. But the other devilish hand groped and palmed against him just so, enough to make Michael weak in the knees and part his lips to release a pent up moan.

Mahone didn't mind. In fact he relished in being the only reason Michael was still standing, shoving the other mercilessly back against the prison wall, tongue delving easily through parted lips, to explore the heated cavern within. Michael tried to fight, but ended up arching into that skilled palm, groaning as he felt heat shooting straight down his spine, tingling at his toes.

The cell was filled with panting and grunting and Michael's half-hearted protests, head smacking once or twice against the wall in adamant denial. He tugged fruitlessly on his trapped hands, barely managing to keep on his feet. His cock swelled under Mahone's skilled ministrations, cursing when Alex fumbled with his pants and delved right in to cup his balls.

Alex was in heaven. The kid's dick fit well in his large grasp, precum glistening at the tip as he pumped it for all it was worth. And boy it was worth it. So worth it to have Michael writhing, gasping, sweating before him. Eyes shut tight against the onslaught of mind numbing pleasure. He knew Scofield too well. Beautiful as he was, he knew for a fact Michael kept his usefulness as a get-out-of-jail free card as a way to remain unmolested in his stay at Fox River. And he could handle himself well enough on his own in Sona. Minus that foul play fight set up by Lechero himself.

But that was fine.

Everything would be okay so long as Mahone was there to watch the kid's back.

But he didn't see a problem in confirming the obvious verbally.

"Had anyone jerk you off lately, Scofield?" Mahone inquiry came off more as a demand, lips brushing heatedly against Michael's neck, the taller man curling protectively against the boy.

"Ngh..." Scofield shook his head in the negative, those lips and that hand bringing delicious shivers down his spine. His response was followed by an oddly truthful statement, "Never..."

Michael regretted it the instant it slipped, Mahone stopping completely in surprise as he looked into those defensive baby blues as they made an appearance.

"...Never...?" Mahone ghosted, needing the affirmation.

"I've been with women." Michael hedged, not sure why he didn't want to finish the truth that he started to say.

Mahone sensed the hesitancy in the younger's statement. He smirked, and in a disbelieving tone inquired, "Really?"

"Look, it's none of your business. Now take your hand. Out of my pants." Michael managed with a serious tone, his faculties slowly grouping together from the small reprieve.

"Mmm, no." Mahone rebuked with a tilt of his head, "Don't think so. I, ah, tend to *finish* what I start. And I can't help but notice... you didn't answer the question."

"What question?" Michael stalled.

Mahone smirked, on to him. Two could play this game. He demanded straightforward, "Are you a virgin, Scofield?"

Michael nearly choked, "What does that have to do with-"

"Seeing as how I have my hand down your pants, clearly wanting to FUCK the living day lights outta you, I say this question has *everything* to do with this."

"You are taking way too many liberties, Alex. THAT is why I don't have the answer and THAT is why I'm choosing not to reply."

"Pointless denying it, Scofield." Mahone uttered with a grin, squeezing his cock for emphasis, "No turning back now. Had you in my sights for a while Scofield. Ever since they handed me your file and I saw your pretty picture starin' back."

Scofield grunted at the jolt of pleasure, trying dry wit as he said, "You know... some would say that's an unhealthy obsession you got."

"And look where I am now." Mahone chuckled, "Remember the elevator? Otis?"

When Michael had thought he saw a fallen warrior angel in disguise. Devilish and dangerously astute. It still brought shivers to see that look in those grey eyes. Like Michael was the water to his thirst. As though he had been waiting lifetimes to see him. And when he did that cute tilt of his auburn head, Scofield knew he was in serious danger of falling.

Hard.

If it weren't for his own fugitive status and the freedom of his nephew at stake, he may have given pause to consider.

"What about it?" Scofield hedged.

"You took my breath away then a hundred times more than any picture they could hand me. I didn't care about the kid. About your brother. I just wanted to *take* you and fuck you against the elevator, after dragging your ass down through that elevator maintenance hatch. And you could tell, I know you could. Could see the fear and mutual want in your eyes, like I see it now." Mahone stated, licking his lips as they were suddenly dry. Dry because of the heat in Sona, and also because of the heat between them.

Michael declared obstinately, "You're delusional."

Mahone lowered his head closer to Michael's collarbone as he chuckled darkly, watching that head tilt upwards and not minding as it gave him full access to that throat. He watched that adam's apple bob slowly and painfully, lickings his lips again as he retorted, "Haha that may be true Michael but... truth of the matter is you WANT me to fuck you. And honestly Michael? Well I would be *more* than happy to oblige."

Scofield stiffened like a board under him, struggling hastily to warn, "Mahone, don't you dare-"

"Too late, Michael." Alex growled.

His large hand palmed the kid roughly, extracting a hot moan from those parted lips, as the boy became weak in the knees when he teased that glistening slit through the underwear

"Jeeze kid, you even *sound* incredible." Mahone growled hungrily, not getting enough. Not yet.

He single-handedly pushed those jean clad thighs apart, and ripped those briefs down for unfiltered access.

"Mahone! Alex, please." Scofield almost squeaked as that large hand found him again, making his body tremble.

Mahone stopped a moment, just a small moment, to oblige the kid.

"Too much, too soon." Michael panted, back arching as that hand once again played his strung out cock like it was a cello.

"Can't control myself around you Michael." Mahone said apologetically with a shrug, hand pumping that full cock slowly and without mercy as he watched the play of emotions across the kid's face, felt that body arch and jerk under his skill, drank in those wonderful sounds.

"Please Alex, if you don't stop-"

"*Can't* stop." Mahone corrected.

"I- ah!" Michael's eyes scrunched shut as the pleasure built quickly within, the heat and lust coiling in his gut. He stammered, "A-alex! I won't be able to hold it much longer-"

"Then DON'T." Mahone commanded, increasing the tempo of his strokes, making them more demanding. Watching that firm young body buck helplessly into it, whines and moans dripping tastefully from that supple mouth.

Michael struggled uselessly against the hold on his hands, but his end was approaching. Under that hawklike gaze and skilled ministrations, it was headed his way faster than a speeding bullet train.

His face flushed as that large hand took a firmer grasp of him. Pumping him, fondling his sac, teasing his slit. Even brushing deep between his legs to play against his entrance. He hissed and writhed and moaned uncontrollably.

"Alex!" He warned breathlessly. Those steel eyes merely devoured him.

That hand pumped him once.

Michael bucked, the heat winding tighter and tighter. His moans louder.

Twice.

Scofield felt his balls tighten. His body grow taut. The pleasure reaching its crescendo all throughout his body.

A deep and skillful third stroke.

And it was done.

Michael screamed the other's name, vision seeing white as his body shuddered, stream after stream of hard white cum jetting out of his abused cock. His hips jerked with the post-climax echo effect, leaking rod still attempting to chase the pleasure it just hit. The fact that Mahone was relentlessly milking his softening shaft for all it was worth did not help any. 

Alex did not know how the kid got off being so damn fucking adorable, even after a jerkoff session. He chalked it up to the universe that continuously jerked with him. Well this was one thing he wasn't going to lose. One person he would not let them, the universe, or anyone one else take away.

As Michael looked at him with slightly embarrassed, but fully satiated eyes, Mahone felt his heart clench.

Definitely not.

Not if he had any say in the matter.


End file.
